


Metamorphosis

by hoosierbitch



Category: White Collar
Genre: Bodyswap, F/M, Identity Issues, M/M, Mostly porn, Multi, Porn, With Hidden Bonus Feelings, more porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal and Elizabeth switch bodies. Then things get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabidchild67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/gifts), [rabidchild (rabidchild67)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/gifts).



> I started writing this for the lovely [](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/)**rabidchild**  back in January when she won a bid for the Queensland Flood Auction. It started out as smut, but grew into something that was also about relationships and gender roles. I hope you like your fic!
> 
>  **coffeethyme4me**  did an amazing, thorough, insightful beta read for me. Any remaining mistakes are all my own!

There was a burst of light.

There was –

It shot outwards. An explosion, a brilliant white firework. And it _burned_.

It started with a burst of light.

*

When she woke up, she was not -

She woke up. And she groaned but her ears were still ringing so she did not notice the strange register of her voice, and everything _hurt_ so she did not notice how everything also felt _strange_. And then across the room she heard her voice whisper “Elizabeth?”

And she opened her eyes, slowly, because there was a painful afterimage burned into her retinas but immediately she noticed that her field of vision seemed to have expanded, she could see _more_ , she could see the corners of the storage room and details in the dirt on the floor, the footprints that her heels and Neal’s shoes had made in the dust. No one ever came to this room, so it was the perfect place to sneak for a quickie, according to Neal. She looked back down at the prints in the dirt. She could see her feet. Or, she could see the feet that were attached to her body, and she could also see her shoes, on her stockinged feet, but they were - “Neal?”

“ _Fuck_.”

*

“If it’s any consolation, this has, um, happened before,” Pat, the technician, said apologetically, holding up a clipboard before her like a shield. “Which is why the artifact was moved into storage. A secure storage space. Which no one was supposed to be able to get into.”

“I’m not going to apologize for getting _turned into a lady,_ ” Neal said primly, looking at his fingernails. “Your security is a joke. And you shouldn’t keep toys that you don’t want people to play with.”

El patted the lock pick set in his – her – pocket and glared at the room full of scientists who’d been poking and prodding her for the last few hours. “This had better be temporary,” she growled at the hapless technician who had been the first one to stumble across them and raise the _something’s-gone-terribly-terribly-awry_ alarm. “Because if it is not, the FBI and I are going to have _problems_.” She put her hands on Neal’s hips and then swore when they slipped off. “Skinny bastard,” she muttered as she repositioned her hands, glaring at the one scientist who had dared to smile at her clumsiness.

“Of course it’s temporary,” Peter assured her, holding her hand awkwardly and glaring at the technician. “Right?”

El slipped her hand out of Peter’s and started pacing. She always thought more clearly when she was moving. Even now, though her feet and legs were inches too long and she kept accidentally kicking the trash can every time she turned around.

“Of course,” Pat said soothingly. Peter, bless him, somehow made nodding in agreement look like both confirmation and a threat.

Neal sighed ( _it was startling, to hear her sigh coming from the opposite corner of the room_ ). He seemed to be taking this remarkably in stride. After the flash had hit them and they’d blinked back into consciousness to find themselves in opposite bodies, he’d patted himself down, complimented her on the comfortable fit of her dress, tripped in her heels, and sat down to wait for Peter. She, on the other hand, had sworn and walked into walls and somehow bruised both of her elbows while pulling out her cell phone to call her husband down to the storage locker. She was never going to bring Neal _or_ her husband down here to fool around ever again.

Pat put down the latest sheaf of papers, covered in symbols that vaguely resembled Greek letters, and shrugged helplessly at them. “We can arrange accommodations for all three of you until your condition – er – fades. It won't last longer than twenty-four hours. Maybe thirty-six. Probably.”

“ _How_ probably?” Peter yelled, standing up and moving towards her. Both she and Neal stepped forward to calm him down, but Neal wasn’t used to his – her – heels, and that damned trashcan caught the edge of her shoe _again_ , and they both tripped. Peter managed to steady them, putting an arm around Neal and a hand on her shoulder (holding her at arm’s length and Neal close to his body until he remembered which one of them was actually which and tried to switch their positions, which would have worked except Neal stumbled in his heels again and they all ended up tipped together like an uneven tripod).

“We'll be going home,” she said, enjoying the authoritative depth of Neal’s voice. “And if the FBI has a problem with that, well – well, then they can kiss my manly ass!”

“It’s a very nice ass,” Neal agreed from where he’d tottered behind her to sit down.

“And on that note,” Peter said, glaring at a man who was trying to get him to sign a release form, “we’re going home.”

*

It was easier said than done. They had to spend an hour signing different waivers and forms and letting the technicians draw blood samples and take final readings before Peter put his hand on his gun and threatened to shoot the next paper that they asked him to sign. “It counts as a signature,” he said mildly, as the techs cleared the room and fetched them their coats. “In some countries.”

“You worry me,” Neal muttered, and El smiled because even though it was her voice, it was still so obviously Neal's inflection. Then she frowned.

“I – we might have a problem.”

“You mean other than the fact that we're _in the wrong bodies_?”

She nodded. Peter looked worried. “What is it?”

“...I have to pee.”

All three of them went into the bathroom together. Peter helped her unzip and get her dick out, then Neal aimed it for her until the flow started. She was half-hard, by the end of it, gently stroking herself. She liked having a penis.

“I like having a penis.”

“I never would have guessed,” Peter said drolly. “You have probably the biggest collection of strap-ons in New York. Now let’s get you home before you jack off in the FBI building.”

“Not like it would be the first time,” she and Neal murmured simultaneously. They tried to high-five behind Peter’s back, but their hands missed by about a foot.

*

There was a traffic jam inside the door once they got home as they wrestled off unfamiliar shoes. Neal tipped over after he tried to toe off her Manolos and she unsuccessfully tried to yank off his shoes without unlacing them.

“Stop! Both of you, just – stop moving before you break something.” She and Neal froze while Peter took off and hung up his coat, untied his shoes and put them in the closet, and then got down on his knees. He turned to Neal first, but with a shake of his head turned back to her. _Ladies first,_ she’d always say with a smile, when Peter treated her so chivalrously in front of Neal. But she wasn’t a lady anymore, and with Neal sleeping over more nights than he slept alone, they were hardly ‘dating.’ Peter still turned to her first, though.

“This is going to take some getting used to,” Peter murmured to himself as he untied her shoes. He took his time, sliding off each shoe while cradling her ankle in his other hand, his calluses catching on the silk weave of Neal’s sock. “You want your socks on or off?”

“Off,” she said, because she’d have said anything to get more of Peter's touch on her unfamiliar skin.

They all paused when Peter encountered the anklet. “You've got to just pull the sock down from underneath it,” Neal said quietly.

“Do I need to switch this to your ankle?” Peter asked Neal, tugging the fabric underneath the gray plastic, smoothing a thumb over the bare skin when he finished. She didn't want him to. She didn't want the tracker to be on her ankle now, but she didn't want to see it on her body, either – somehow it seemed less claustrophobic where it was; where she was used to seeing it.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Neal laughed. “Not like I'd get very far in these heels. Elizabeth, I don't know how you manage it.”

“Practice.”

Neal _hmmd_ and took a few unsteady steps in her four-inch Manolos before grabbing hold of the banister to steady himself. Peter pushed him down, and he reluctantly sat on the stairs to let Peter help him out of his heels. “I look good in that dress,” El said. It made her breasts look _fantastic_. She'd be the first to admit that she'd gained a bit of weight recently, but she'd also be the first to say that she liked the way it made her look.

“Thanks,” Neal said with a smile.

Peter looked back and forth between them. “Narcissists.”

She looked at her husband, kneeling before Neal, and smiled. “Can you blame us?”

She knew that their eyes were on her, so she slowly ran her hands down her flat chest. Tried to think of what she would do if she were in her body, standing behind Neal, running her palms down his chest. But when she shifted her weight, she knew it was _her_ pecs shifting under her hands, her uneven breath that was making her ribs shift underneath her fingers. When she brought her hands lower, she could feel the line of her hipbones. And she could feel her hands on the sensitive skin, even through the layers of clothing. Neal’s suits were beautiful, but they were also complicated. Jacket and vest and tie and shirt and undershirt – so many obstacles between her fingernails and his nipples. When she passed the palm of her hand over her groin, any imagined barrier, any illusory distance between what she was doing and who she was doing it to _evaporated_. She was touching her cock and feeling herself touching her cock, and _yes_ , she liked it hard.

“Horndog,” Peter said fondly, standing slowly and then running an experimental hand through her hair.

“I'm a man, now,” she said. “Blame my biology.”

“Hey,” Neal protested. “I have never felt myself up in public!”

“This doesn't count as public,” she protested, gasping as Peter’s hand slid over her own, pressing against the shaft of her cock. “Can we please fuck now?”

She knew what she wanted. But this wasn’t her body, no matter that it was temporarily in her possession. She looked at Neal’s parted lips, remembered dabbing at that lipstick only hours before, looked at the tangles in her hair with fingers that itched for a brush, looked at the eyeshadow around his eyes with a critical view.

She wanted to do Neal’s lipstick and brush his hair, and while neither of those impulses was entirely new, they were definitely different. She wanted to dress him up and get him dirty. She wanted to fuck him. She wanted to fuck someone with this cock that was attached to her body. She wanted to watch Peter fuck Neal in her body, she wanted someone on their knees taking her into their throat, she wanted to ease into someone’s body, she wanted –

Neal stood up, more gracefully than she expected, and leaned against the banister. “I’m so horny, I think I soaked through your panties before we even left the FBI building.”

She laughed and Peter squeezed her dick and it was a new kind of daring for all of them.

Two stumbles on the staircase and twenty seconds later, they were in the bedroom. As soon as Peter closed the door she pressed Neal against it and kissed him. It was more fun and more awkward than their first kiss had been because he was already laughing and she was trying to figure out whether she should just bend from her neck or hunch down with her back to get at the same height. They got it right, eventually, Neal’s fingers rubbing against her stubble and hers tangling in his long hair. She tugged on it and Neal gasped, bending his head to the side. Her right hand got caught in his hair and she unraveled her fingers slowly as Neal licked his lips. “I need to shave more,” he murmured, fingers exploring the burn her five o’clock shadow had left on his chin.

“This is confusing,” Peter remarked from where he was perched on the bed.

“You’re telling me – I'm giving myself stubble burn,” Neal complained.

“You're about to get even more.” She finally had both hands free, and she used them to turn Neal around so that she was behind him and they were both facing Peter. She put her mouth against his neck - not biting, not even kissing - not yet. Just enjoying the friction of her beard against his skin. “I can smell my perfume,” she whispered as she mouthed her way from Neal's earlobe to his shoulder. “I like it.”

“Me, too,” Neal replied. He sounded distracted. When she flicked her eyes up to see why, she saw that he was playing with his nipples.

“Having fun?” She put her hands over his and encouraged him to pinch harder.

“They’re so sensitive,” Neal gasped.

"Peter,” she murmured, putting her hands back on the curves of Neal’s hips. “Give him a hand?"

She kept kissing Neal as her husband stood up. Peter looked at her as he slipped the straps of the dress over Neal’s shoulders. Neal shivered between them, and she watched the goosebumps appear on his shoulders. She kissed his cool skin as Peter edged the lace of her bra out of his way. She started sucking a hickey onto Neal’s neck as Peter began playing with Neal’s nipples. Neal's body started twitching - jumping every time Peter's fingers pinched or twisted his sensitive skin. His ass was pressed right in her groin. Her cock was riding the crease of his ass.

“I want to fuck you,” she groaned.

“First dibs,” Peter countered with a growl as he bent over to suck one of Neal's nipples into his mouth, still caressing both breasts with his hands. Neal was arching his chest forward to present his body for Peter's pleasure.

“Sharing is caring,” Neal gasped, groaning as Peter switched sides. El reached around with one hand and swirled her thumb over Neal's spit-slick nipple. After a minute she tugged the lace back into position and rubbed Neal’s nipple through the rough fabric.

“Do you think we can make him come like this?” she asked her husband.

“Yes,” Peter answered, his voice muffled because his teeth were tight around Neal’s flesh. Neal was swearing, writhing between them like he was trying to fuck them through their clothes.

“Or,” she said slowly, “we could wait to let him come until he’s got a dick inside of him.”

"Fuck,” Neal chanted, “fuck – fuck – ” She pinched and Peter hummed something and Neal shook between them.

“Are you coming, baby?” She slid her hand from his breast to between his legs, pressing against him through the dress and the black lace panties she'd worn to visit him.

“I – I don't know,” he moaned. “I can't – I _can't_ ,” and he sounded like it was hurting him, this confusion, and as her cock grew even harder in her pants she was beginning to sympathize.

“Let's get you both naked,” Peter decided. He stripped the rest of his own clothes off quickly and then began to unbutton hers. He did the vest, they unbuttoned the shirt together – he started at the top, she the bottom – fondling every bit of skin that they could find an excuse to touch. After the shirt was off, Neal undid her pants. He eased her dick out of her boxers slowly, carefully, before stroking it. She put her hand over his and they jerked her off together for a couple of breathless seconds, spreading her precum down the shaft.

The three of them undressed Neal together. She handled the zipper and then the clasp on the bra, and Peter – well, Peter kept getting distracted by nipples.

“God, I love having breasts,” Neal murmured. “How do you get anything done?”

“How do _you_?” she countered, experimenting with all of the different ways she could run her hand over the head of her dick.

“I masturbate a lot.”

“Me, too.” Then she tried to be suave and push them all towards the bed, but Neal’s upper body was significantly more muscular than hers and his center of gravity was a bit displaced, and she ended up stumbling against the mattress while Neal and Peter careened into the bedpost.

“Ow.”

Peter kissed Neal’s arm where it had come in contact with the bedpost. She reached for them, a bit more tentatively, and they both came willingly.

Neal was still wearing her panties. She struggled onto her hands and knees and straddled his body, slipping her fingers underneath the waistband.

“It’s like you’re about to go down on yourself,” Peter said with a bit of a laugh. “Man, I wish I was flexible enough to actually do that.” Her thumbs rubbed at Neal’s stomach, her fingertips were brushing against his pubic hair.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she realized slowly. There was weird, and then there was – there was too weird. “I’ve never gone down on a woman before.” Neal and Peter were both bisexual, or pansexual, but she was – well, she wasn’t actually sure what the term was, but she was pretty straight. And it didn’t seem to matter that she was in a different body, it still felt – just – _weird_.

“Can I?”

She moved to make room for Peter, but Neal grabbed her wrist before she could. “I can suck you,” he offered. “While Peter goes down on me. So that no one is left out.” She smiled and brushed her – his – hair out of his face.

“Thanks, Neal. But I think you might be a bit too distracted.” Peter took his cue from her, leaned down, and pressed his tongue against Neal’s cunt through the lace of his panties.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Neal swore, his hands flying down to grab a hold of Peter’s head. “You’re – that’s – ”

She knew how hot Peter’s mouth was. How his saliva would soak her panties, how strong his tongue was, how delicately he’d use his teeth. After teasing Neal’s clit for a minute Peter slid the lace down Neal’s hips. After he’d slipped them over his feet Peter just stared at Neal’s body. El shifted onto her knees and joined him. Neal raised an eyebrow – okay, that was unfair, _she_ couldn’t even raise that eyebrow – and asked them if they saw something they liked.

“Yeah,” Peter said.

“You.”

And it didn’t feel narcissistic, didn’t feel voyeuristic, because even though it was mixed up, when she paid attention, she could see that it was still Neal. Neal’s quick, broad smile, his impatient wriggle as he reached for Peter’s head, his deep groan (just a couple of notes higher than normal) that Peter wrung from his body as he made his way back between Neal’s thighs.

It was Neal, but it was Neal…undone. She didn’t know what she looked like, now, in Neal’s body, but there was a new undeniable openness in Neal’s face.

It takes time to learn how to school your expression into a mask, and in this body, in _her_ body, all of Neal’s masks were temporarily displaced.

The surprise and hunger that were so obvious on Neal’s face were new for both of them. He looked young, naïve, overwhelmed.

It was disconcerting. Seeing her face ( _Neal’s face_ ) so full of abandon.

She could hear Peter sucking on Neal’s clit. Barely hear it, because Neal’s gasps and moans were far from quiet, but her husband was going all out. Neal’s hands were wrapped around Peter’s head, his thighs spread open, his knees pulled up to make way for Peter’s shoulders. Neal was choking out sighs and gasps and curses and Peter’s name, and he was biting his lip and smearing her lipstick and since her eyeshadow wasn’t waterproof it was beginning to collect in the wrinkles around Neal’s tightly closed eyes. He looked wrecked. Like Peter was wrecking him.

“You’re so wet,” she murmured as Peter pulled back to start fucking Neal with his fingers. Neal’s thighs were glistening and Peter’s chin was soaked.

She was used to the way the arousal and impatience were coursing through her, but it still felt strange. The desire spread through her whole body; it tensed her muscles and tightened her lungs before coming back to settle heavy between her legs. She wanted to fuck someone. This new hungry part of her wanted to be surrounded, stimulated, _used_. But they’d started on Neal first and he already looked like he was about to finish, riding Peter’s hand like a slut, his eyes clenched shut, sweat dripping between his breasts.

It was odd. Just _watching_. It felt like an out-of-body experience when all she wanted to do was feel her _new_ body.

Peter kept twisting the two fingers he had buried in Neal’s cunt, occasionally brushing his thumb over his clit. Peter was such a tease. El, on the other hand, liked to get straight to the point.

She lubed up her fingers, patted Peter on his shoulder so that he’d give her some room, and slid two fingers into Neal’s ass.

His whole body tensed and his eyes practically rolled back in his head.

“You like that, baby?”

The sound that Neal made in response wasn’t even close to coherent. It was barely even human. She wiggled her fingers and her knuckles brushed against Peter’s through the thin barrier of Neal’s flesh.

“Stop,” Neal gasped. “Oh, Christ – please, _please_.” He was writhing on their hands, his body hungry for more than their hands could give. “Somebody fuck me,” he moaned. “I need something inside of me.” His eyes were wild and desperate. Beautiful. “I want come with you in me. Don’t want to come until – until – I’m so wet, Peter, so open…”

“He’s aching for you,” she whispered to her husband, because she knew how painfully her body could crave.

She twisted her fingers when Peter withdrew his, enjoying the tight vise of Neal's body, but she had to stop when Peter teased his wet fingers over Neal’s clit because Neal clamped down around her hand painfully tight, his breath high and uncomfortable in his throat.

She watched Peter’s fingers circle lazily between Neal’s legs. It looked different, at this angle, from what she was used to – but it was undeniably familiar. Peter’s rough fingers playfully exploring her clit. The pleasure that shot through her body just from the sight, though, was instinctive. Disjointed. New. _Neal’s_.

She moved around behind Neal, pressing her flat chest against the curves of Neal’s back while twisting her long fingers in his ass, and watched her husband drive him mad.

She wanted to devour the noise that Neal made when Peter stopped rubbing his clit to reach for the condoms. She wanted to consume his sounds, tortured and plaintive and sweet, wanted to make him make them again.

“How does it feel, baby?”

Neal was reaching tentatively between his own legs, hand hovering between his thighs. She reached around and spread him open. “It feels - oh - ” Neal started to touch himself. Tracing tiny circles over his clit with shaking hands.

“Fuck yourself with your fingers,” she whispered, and Neal nodded and obeyed. The first finger slid in and he groaned, curling into a fetal position. A second finger followed soon after and Neal was quick to start scissoring them, rubbing against his insides. She slid two fingers back in his ass and hummed thoughtfully as Neal writhed. “Peter – let’s fuck him at the same time.”

Neal whimpered, his hand between his legs, protecting the oversensitive flesh.

“Do you think we can?” Peter asked her. “Can we?” he asked Neal, fisting his cock, getting the condom slick with the juices Neal had gotten all over his hand.

“Just – anything,” Neal moaned, taking his hands away from his cunt to wrap his arms behind her neck. Leaving himself open for them. Breasts jutting out, nipples hard and proud, legs spread, cunt still dripping onto their sheets. “Just don’t – don’t stop.” There was a plea in his voice that made her cock get harder.

“Get me a condom,” she said to her husband, pushing two fingers into Neal’s ass as far as they’d go. They made quick work of the condom and the lube. With Neal practically convulsing with need between them, it was hard to take enough time to do even that.

“You first,” Neal whispered into her neck.

“How – ” Peter started to ask before Neal shuffled up onto his knees, reached behind him, and started guiding her cock into himself. “Oh,” Peter murmured. Never one to be left out, Peter put a helping hand on her dick, too, and he hadn’t actually done that yet and his hand felt _so good_ that she thrust forward, didn’t mean to, didn’t think – the head of her dick pressed through Neal’s hole in the space of heartbeat. Her heartbeat, pounding in her chest, blood rushing through her veins because the tight pressure of Neal’s body around her cock was impossible. It made her hungry and angry and jealous, made her greedy, made her thrust forward before she could ask Neal if it was okay.

His body was so hot. Enveloping her. Letting her in. _Taking_ her in. And she marveled at the power of Neal’s vulnerability, experiencing for the first time the gratitude that comes with penetrating someone. And, yes, her strap-on collection was something to be both feared and admired, but it wasn’t – it wasn’t this. She didn’t know how she’d be able to go back.

“Neal,” she pleaded, in a man’s voice, deep and rough. Her urgency as unfamiliar as the sound of the words.

“Feels so good,” Neal moaned.

“You like having your cock inside of you?”

Neal sobbed as she worked herself in deeper. “Peter next.”

El’s cock was halfway in him. He was holding himself up with one hand on his own thigh and the other on hers. His arms were shaking.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked, and she wanted to kill him a little bit, because this was _not_ the time for _questions,_ it was time for her to _move_ , and the next person who made her wait to sink herself deeper into Neal’s body was going to get _shanked_.

“Get in me before I come,” Neal gasped.

And even though he was still so tight around her that it almost hurt, even though she hadn’t moved more than half an inch deeper, she almost came. Her whole body throbbed with Neal’s words. If Peter didn’t quit teasing and get on with it she’d have to get out a cockring.

Peter moved so slowly. Adjusting the two of them into the perfect position, kissing Neal for long, torturous moments while he moved the head of his cock over Neal’s clit, his soaked cunt, the rim of his hole where it was spread tight around El’s dick. Neal was nearly delirious with pleasure, his hips jerking forward every time Peter brushed his clit, fucking backwards every time he remembered how good the burn of her cock felt inside of his ass.

And when Peter finally pressed his cock against Neal’s cunt and pressed inside his body – there was a burst of light.

And she was in her body and she was in Neal’s and even Peter’s too, maybe, she couldn’t tell and it didn’t matter because there was only the smallest layer of flesh that separated all of them and for a moment – minutes, maybe, a freeze-frame pause, eternity – they were the same. Friction and burn and Neal’s cunt squeezing them together and the head of Peter’s cock sliding against her shaft through Neal’s stretched walls. Bursts of light behind her closed eyes and she couldn’t remember who she was. Didn’t care. She couldn’t be closer to them even if she tried, which she _did_ , her hands on Neal’s hips and her mouth on his neck and Peter’s hands on her shoulders.

Neal was screaming. Peter was grunting with each thrust, the headboard banging against the wall, and she didn’t move, didn’t need to, Peter was fucking Neal hard enough for both of them. Neal was screaming Peter’s name and then hers, Neal was _begging_ , and she didn’t even want to think about how sore he was going to be – she knew from experience – because she had to come. She _had_ to, it wasn’t an option, she’d been on the edge for what felt like hours but now that she finally had everything her body had been craving – Neal riding her like a cowboy, Peter’s deep growl resonating through her bones, the smack of Neal’s ass against her thighs – she couldn’t come.

Instead, Neal came. Violently, suddenly, shuddering between them as his hand worked furiously between his thighs. His hole convulsed so tightly around her that she couldn’t move. And still, she couldn’t come. Even when she felt Neal’s come squirting out around Peter’s cock and splashing on her thighs, even as Peter redoubled his efforts to bring Neal’s orgasm to more painful heights, she couldn’t come.

Peter came, minutes later, when Neal was a sweaty, shaking mess between them. None of them knew how many times Neal had come by then, but all of them knew that she hadn’t yet, knew that there was some block between her body and her mind that she had yet to get past.

When Peter pulled out Neal fell towards him. The swollen rim of his hole squeezing the head of her cock was the most bitter pleasure she’d ever felt.

But Neal didn’t collapse onto the bed, didn’t follow Peter into the bathroom. Instead Neal grabbed some pillows, shoved them underneath his stomach, and got on his hands and knees. “Get a new condom,” Neal said, words more of a sob than an order. “And fuck me. Hard.” And she didn’t know whose experience he was speaking from, whose body’s needs he was answering, but she got the condom and then put her hands on his hips (reveling in the give of soft flesh under strong fingers) and slid into Neal’s cunt.

She didn’t have words. Didn’t have anything. Neal was hot and wet and somehow, even after Peter, still tight. She adjusted her hold on his hips and fucked him until he was screaming her name – _El, Elizabeth, please please please come_. And she tried. Fucked him hard, fucked him slow, fucked him until even the slick walls of his cunt were painful on her oversensitive cock. Fucked him until Peter slid behind her on the bed.

And Peter kissed her shoulders and bit her neck and squeezed her balls and then, thank _God_ , Peter slid a finger into her hole. She couldn’t remember Peter even getting the lube, but his finger was wet and when he twisted it she saw stars, when he crooked it she froze, when he pressed her prostate like he was trying to bruise it she came.

It felt like she was being tortured. Each part of her body tensed and screamed and pulsed inwards, down, through her cock. Every nerve ending on her body opened up and all she could feel was Neal, all that mattered was how grateful she was that he was letting her fuck him. How beautiful it was that she was inside his body. Coming inside his body.

“Just like that,” Peter murmured as she thrust unevenly into Neal’s cunt. “Just let it happen.” From the tightness of Neal’s cunt and the tension in his shoulders she’d guess he was coming, again, just from the knowledge that El was spilling inside of him.

She tightened her grip on his hips until he whined, and fucked him until she started to soften, and only pulled out when she had to.

“Enjoy yourself?” Peter chuckled as he eased her onto her side.

“Definitely,” she mumbled, her eyelids sagging closed. She had more sympathy for Neal, suddenly, the way he always fell asleep a few minutes after coming. She was exhausted.

Neal looked a mess. Still spread over the mattress, pillow tilting his hips up, hickeys decorating his shoulders, hair tangled in clumps. Peter kissed El on the forehead, pulled a blanket over her, and before Neal could pull himself together enough to close his legs Peter pressed his tongue into his raw cunt. “Multiple orgasms,” she said with a sleepy nod as Neal began to cry.

*

The next morning she woke up still in an unfamiliar body. She hadn’t realized quite how much she’d been expecting it to be a dream until she rolled over, felt her morning wood rub against the sheets, and groaned unhappily.

“Sorry about that,” Neal said. “Kind of comes with the territory.” He chuckled.  
“Pun intended.” He was sitting up against the headboard, hands folded over his bare stomach, hair falling over his breasts. He looked beautiful. She wasn’t above self-admiration, and the sun was making him glow. And he was…smiling. Apologetic, and kind, and open, the same way he had been since the switch happened. Like he wasn’t even bothering to try to hide anything anymore.

“Don’t apologize,” she said, rolling onto her back and stroking her hard-on. “It’s kind of nice, actually.” She pulled the blanket off of her hips and watched herself masturbate. “ _Very nice_.”

“You know, I think you’re actually prouder of Neal’s dick than he is.” Peter was standing in the doorway, bathrobe loosely tied, three cups of coffee in his hands. She tossed a pillow at his feet but accidentally hit him in the stomach. He managed to protect the coffee, at least.

“Why shouldn’t I be proud?” She stroked her cock, carefully, two fingers tracing along the bottom. “It’s a very nice dick. And it is mine,” she added thoughtfully. It was hers now, of course, because this _was_ her body, for however long the swap lasted. And it would still be hers when the switch reversed because _Neal_ was hers. That hadn’t changed. “Isn’t it, Neal?”

Neal licked his lips and nodded. El got up on her knees and stroked her cock some more. She liked having Neal’s bigger hands. Liked the way his pubic hair felt against her fingers. She scratched her fingers through the trail of hair that led to her dick and shivered. She’d have to remember to do that again when they switched back.

“We’ve got about another five hours,” Peter said, setting the coffee down on the dresser and picking up the lube as he walked back to the bed. “The guys from the lab called. They dug up some equations and narrowed down the time frame.”

“However will we pass the time?” Neal asked, looking speculatively at the lube in Peter’s hand.

Peter shot Neal a grin but then looked back at El. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous. “I was thinking,” he said quietly, tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip. “Maybe you and I could…?”

“Could what?” she asked, spreading her legs and lazily fisting her cock. She was pretty sure she knew what Peter was trying to ask for.

She and Peter fucked a lot. And sometimes Peter fucked her, and sometimes she got out her toybox and made him her bitch. But Neal had never fucked him. Which meant that Peter had never been fucked by a man before. Never had a real cock up his ass. She had to stop touching herself because she almost came, just thinking about what it would be like to be inside her husband.

“Fuck me,” Peter said. And Neal gasped, and Peter blushed, and she got off the bed and walked to her husband.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she murmured, smiling as she kissed him. He was still taller than she was, but not by much. She liked only having to tilt her head up to kiss him instead of going up on her toes. She took the lube from him and then slowly untied the belt of his bathrobe.

Peter was already hard. She got down onto her knees and licked a stripe down the side of Peter’s cock and then kissed her way back to the head. Neal moaned, on the bed, and when she glanced backwards she saw that he was getting off just watching them.

“It’s like watching a sex tape I don’t remember making,” Neal said. She smiled – trying to put as much Caffrey charm behind it as she could – before she took her husband’s cock in her mouth.

And this wasn’t new, but it was still nice. She liked the way Peter put his hands in her hair and pulled on it, liked that after a minute he started fucking her mouth. He was being rougher than he usually was with her. She was starting to get hard, so it was definitely working for her, one way or another.

This was her favorite way to finger Peter open: with her mouth on his cock and her fingers in his ass. She lubed up her fingers quickly and started to tease at his hole. Peter rocked back against her hand, forward into her mouth, and from behind her she heard Neal moan.

“Did you just come, baby?” She didn’t hear Neal’s response, but from the way Peter’s cock suddenly started leaking more precum, she’d guess that the answer was yes. “Keep going. I want to see how many times you can come before I do.” She hummed around Peter’s dick, because she was a little miffed that he wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing, and worked a second finger into him.

Three fingers, a lot of lube, and two orgasms for Neal later, and Peter was ready.

They tumbled onto the bed, Peter licking the taste of his precum from her mouth. She arranged him the way she wanted him – smiling the whole time and vowing to work out more in the future, because it was kind of nice to be able to just _move_ the person she was fucking.

Peter was on his back. A couple of pillows supporting his shoulders and neck, tilting him up at a comfortable angle. She put her hands underneath his knees to spread him open and groaned as she looked at his cock, so hard it was tight against his stomach, dripping precum onto his abs. “You’re so beautiful,” she said.

“Flattery will get you – _oh_ – everywhere,” he gasped, as she slowly pressed the head of her cock against his tight, slick, almost virginal hole. “It’s so hot,” he said, his eyebrows coming together like he was worried about something. She rocked her hips forward and he gasped. She had to lean forward, had to kiss the crease in his forehead that Peter got when he was trying to do something _right_. Another breath, another slow push, and she breached Peter’s body. Her arms were already a bit tired from holding Peter’s legs wide but she barely noticed because she could feel _him_. Skin to skin, body to body, her flesh to his flesh.

“God, Peter – you’re so tight.”

Peter hooked one leg behind her back, the other still splayed open, and pulled her in farther when she hesitated. She was sweaty, shaking, her hair – shorter, thicker, _Neal’s_ hair – was sticking to her temples. Peter reached up to brush it away, and she smiled down at him. He never did that for Neal. He didn’t need to – Neal’s hair wasn’t long enough to get in his eyes the way hers did. It was a leftover gesture. One that was just theirs. Her hair had been getting in Peter’s way since the first time they made out. And somehow the familiarity of the gesture brought it all home to her. Peter was sharing something with her. _Giving_ something to her. He was literally guiding her into it, into _him_.

“Love you,” she whispered, in Neal’s voice, her lips against Peter’s lips, her breath against his skin, her words into his mouth.

He smiled up at her, one hand on her hip and the other in her hair. And she knew that no matter what she looked like, Peter would always be able to see _her_. “I love you, too.”

A couple more thrusts, a couple more grinds of Peter’s body underneath her weight, and she was all the way in. Her hips – Neal’s hipbones – were pressed against the backs of Peter’s thighs. She let her head drop forward to rest on his chest while she caught her breath. She couldn’t quite figure out how to pull _back_. It seemed impossible. She wasn’t used to directing her muscles in that motion, and, also, she never wanted to pull out. Never wanted to leave the cradling heat of Peter’s body. So she rocked in circles, little side-to-side motions, and it felt like a new world of pleasure was opening inside of her. Peter’s blissed out face was proof enough that it was working for him.

She looked over at Neal to see if he was enjoying the view, watching the way Peter was falling apart beneath her – beneath _his_ body – wanted to see if Neal liked watching Peter get fucked even though he wasn’t the one doing it –

For a split second, she would have sworn that Neal looked sad. Lonely. But then he smiled and started fucking himself with his fingers and with Peter’s hole practically spasming around her, it was hard to concentrate on anything but fucking her husband.

If it had ended there, she would have sworn that she’d imagined it. But when she thrust forward again and Peter muffled his groan in the curve of her shoulder, something in Neal’s expression twisted. Something that he would have been able to hide in his own body, something that maybe he’d been hiding for a long time, flashed across his face. Jealousy, maybe, which she could sympathize with because Neal might want what she and Peter had – the closeness, the history, all of the things Neal had been building with Kate – but she wanted what Neal had, too. His body, his cock, the effortless partnership he’d built with her husband.

She looked away from Neal, back to Peter, and kissed her husband because his lips were just a little parted and she wanted to taste the breath that she was driving from his body with each movement of her hips. Their time together like this was trickling away from them.

She reached for Neal’s hand (the left one, the one that wasn’t buried between his legs), and squeezed it tight.

The wedding ring on Neal’s finger dug into the bare flesh of her hand.

“I love you,” she said to her husband before she bit down on his shoulder, deep, so that her bite mark would be there even after she was back in her other body. A reminder of how deeply, how completely she’d put her mark in and on him.

Peter shouted, his hands tight enough on her biceps that she cried out, and came. Untouched, unexpected, his orgasm taking them all by surprise.

She caught most of his come in her hand, sat up on her heels, and started to lick it off. Offered some of it to Neal and felt her cock pulse as he cleaned her fingers with his clever tongue. She gestured for him to come closer, close enough that she could kiss him when he was finished because being jealous didn’t mean she wanted him to _hurt_ and there was a loneliness in Neal that frightened her.

Then she let go of Neal’s hand, sat back on her heels, and fucked Peter as hard as she wanted to because she _could_ , and she liked it, and she wouldn’t ever get to do this again. Get to feel the pressure and texture of Peter’s walls around her, the bend of his body, the way he was trying to tighten up his muscles to make it good for her. She closed her eyes when she came and tried to remember ever single atom of sensation. For years to come, for the rest of her life, she’d remember this. Coming inside of her husband’s body.

“ _Mine_.”

“Always,” Peter whispered.

She almost fell asleep right afterwards; her body satisfied, her energy expended. She woke up a bit when she heard Peter start talking. “Well. That was different.” She shivered when she heard Neal’s quiet laugh. She couldn’t see him over Peter’s shoulder, and that was _her_ laugh. “Maybe we should try that again. In a few days, after…would you be interested in that?”

She couldn’t see Neal. Couldn’t see his expression. The silence stretched out so long her eyes almost drifted shut before he replied. “It’s different with Elizabeth. Than it is with me. You just got fucked by my body, Peter. Not by me.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” she cringed because Peter had always known the difference between his wife and his boyfriend and that maybe that was the problem.

“We can talk about this later,” is all that she heard Neal whisper. For some reason his response chased Peter out of the bed. He was moving slowly. _Sore_ , she thought with a smirk, before she realized that Neal was crying. She never looked pretty when she cried.

She closed her eyes, not wanted to see their mismatched bodies; not wanting to think about how Peter was just a bit less careful with her when she looked like Neal, a bit less intimate, a little less…loving. Maybe it was because of their bodies. Because she was a woman and Neal was a man and Peter was raised by a traditional Midwestern family and some things they wouldn’t have thought to question.

She didn't want to acknowledge how much she already missed Peter. Missed the way he treated her every day. Didn’t want to think about the tracker that she’d been banging against everybody’s shins over the last day. Her bare ring finger.

She turned onto her side, towards the center of the bed, and made her way to Neal’s face with cautious fingers, relearning her own tearstreaked features.

She kissed his cheekbone. Smiled at the rub of her stubble against his cheek. She kissed his ear and then the ticklish spot behind it, brushing his long hair out of her way. She committed the feelings coursing through her to memory as much as she could so that she would be able to call them back again when it was her hair that was in the way and Neal’s stubble that was rough against her own skin. Kissed the pained smile Neal was trying to hold onto so that she would remember what Neal’s masks were there to hide.

“I’m not complaining,” Neal said, turning his head away from her, using his hair like a curtain. “It’s just the unfamiliar hormones. Nothing’s wrong.”

Peter nodded before he came back to bed, sandwiching Neal between them. “Just because it ain’t broke doesn’t mean we can’t fix it.” Neal laughed brokenly as Peter’s hand slid between his legs.

They had two more years. Two more years before the anklet came off and Neal’s sentence would be finished and she and Peter could ask him if _forever_ would work well as an alternative. Neal’s eyes were still closed and Peter’s wedding ring was already dull with age and she didn’t think that Neal would wait another two years for them to ask. Didn’t think that he should have to.

“I love you,” she said, because in these intimate moments those were the words that came so easily to mind. “I love you both so much,” she repeated, because the words shouldn’t have sounded strange in Neal’s voice.

Peter wrapped his arms around Neal’s body, and held him tighter than he’d ever held Elizabeth. It made her feel claustrophobic. Watching Neal, she just hoped it made him feel safe. Owned. Loved.

*

It was midafternoon before they made it out of the bedroom again. They made a belated breakfast together, all in their pajamas. Peter in a t-shirt, she and Neal in matching oversized plaid. Hiding their flesh underneath the big folds of soft fabric, ignoring it as much as they could. Peter made pancakes and she got out the juicer and opened a box of oranges she'd picked up the week before (her hands were stronger, now, the box easier to open, the oranges easier to press). Neal started up boiling water and pulled out the French press, because he hated their coffee maker with a devastating fury. He had to make a second batch as they figured out what combination of coffee and milk and sugar their minds and tastebuds recognized as right.

They cooked breakfast together and ate it at the table in their customary chairs. They said nothing about the fact that they couldn’t hook their feet on the familiar rungs, or rest their elbows at the right angle on the tabletop, did nothing but smile at Satchmo’s bewildered wandering between them. It had started raining around noon, and the streams of water down the panes dimmed the sunlight.

“I wonder how we’ll switch back,” Neal said finally, swirling his coffee around in the mug that her nephew had made for her.

She already felt like she was fading. Like the things that she was touching were unreal, or that perhaps her hand had lost substance. She looked out the windowpane and understood. It was almost time.

“Come on,” Peter said, picking up his plate and walking back to the kitchen. She and Neal looked at each other and shared shrugs and smiles ( _funhouse mirror images of each other_ ) before picking up their plates and following Peter to the kitchen.

“You two go to bed,” he said. “I’ll clean up and walk Satchmo.”

She felt like Peter was abandoning them in the midst of a crisis, and when she looked at Neal and saw the same betrayal on his face she wondered how clearly it was written on her own.

“I don’t think I can help with this,” Peter said, turning on the water and getting out the dish soap. “You know that I would if I could.”

And she knew how hard it was for Peter to admit that he was helpless, so she thanked him with a kiss – forgot that she didn’t have to tilt her face up that much to reach him, so it was more nose than mouth, but still – and then took Neal back to bed.

*

“Do you think it’ll be another flash of light?”

She hoped it would be. Another whirlwind burst, unexpected, blinding, simple. “I don’t think so,” she said, because she already felt like she was…unraveling.

Neal reached for her. He fisted his hands in her flannel shirt and pulled her to him. She was taller than him, bigger, her shoulders wider, but that wasn’t the important part of giving comfort; it never had been. She held him. And she realized that maybe it was easier, now, for him to accept the comfort. His fingers were pressed tight against her chest, fisted, shaking.

“I feel like I’m losing something,” he confessed. “I feel like – like I’m dying.” It’s not often you get to leave your body and then get to come back to it.

“We’re not dying,” she said. Because, yes, maybe she was unraveling. But she was also being woven back together.

She kissed Neal. Kissed soft, plump lips, slipped her tongue into his mouth and when their tongues rubbed together she lost track. When her hands stole underneath his shirt and caressed his breasts, she didn’t know if it was skin or fabric or fists that her hands were clasping. When he stripped her clothes and sucked her cock she felt like she was soaring, falling, like gravity had reoriented and she was being pulled into Neal, back into her woman’s body.

Neal sucked her deep into his throat and when she groaned he moaned or maybe it was the other way around, maybe the salt at the back of her throat was precum, maybe she wasn’t crying at all. Maybe later when Peter finally came in he would see one monster body with four arms and four legs and one heart, maybe when Peter came back in they’d grow into a monster with six arms and legs, maybe –

She came, deep in Neal’s throat, and when he swallowed she did too.

Orgasming in Neal’s body was like giving, not coming. This time she gave herself over completely. Gratefully. Trusting Neal’s warm lips and quick broad smiles to welcome her home.

There was a bright light, a burstflashexplosion, blurred around the edges like fading sunlight.

“Are you –” Her voice was her own. “Neal?”

“I’m here,” he whispered.

She could taste him. Taste the semen from her orgasm. She crawled up the bed and kissed him, pulling his hand away from the tracking anklet, the first thing he’d reached for, and twined his fingers with hers. He licked the taste from her mouth and then kept kissing her because she was crying, or he was, or they both were, and when Peter came in the room they were as normal as they’d ever been. Six legs, six arms, three bodies, three shared separate hearts.

*

Feedback is loved and adored.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It's Like You Never Had Wings (The Kafkaesque Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569233) by [waketosleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waketosleep/pseuds/waketosleep)




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